


A Sun Warmed River

by wanderingscholarlad



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff, Homoerotic sword fighting, M/M, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Smut, post-crusades but pre finding Andy and Quynh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingscholarlad/pseuds/wanderingscholarlad
Summary: They’re sparring again now. It had been too early to start on dinner when they settled on a campsite, but they were unwilling to push on when they had found a perfectly good campsite with access to a river. Nicolò had put a hand on his sword and given Yusuf a look, the challenge evident in the stubborn tilt of his jaw and the twinkle of a smile in his eyes giving away his fondness. Yusuf had winked in return, always enjoys the way it throws Nicolò off, and drawn his own sword.It’s an evenly matched fight at this point. They know each other's fighting styles as well as their own and it has become a dance.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 286





	A Sun Warmed River

**Author's Note:**

> This basically sprung out of me going, oh dishevelled with the flat of a blade under his chin would be an excellent look for Nicky. And uh, 2000 words later they were doing their loving affirming thing, so yeah.

They’ve been travelling together for decades at this point. They’ve progressed from their initial tentative truce to a deeper friendship, one that occasionally feels charged with the promise of more. Neither of them is quite ready to approach that though, content to stay as they are. Huddling close in the evenings, ostensibly for warmth as it gets colder, and if they fall asleep curled around each other, it is purely because the warmth of their bodies and the shared blankets is superior to shivering alone. 

They spar now. Both for the fun of it and to keep their bodies and minds sharp. It sometimes stuns Yusuf, the way that he and Nicolò can now fight each other and trust that there is no malintent from either party. He’s been teaching Nicolò Arabic, the other man struggling with the written alphabet but picking up the spoken language with ease. Yusuf hadn’t realised that they didn’t teach their children letters in Europe. Nicolò only knows enough written Latin to read his prayers and scripture. He’s been reciting poetry to him most nights, using it as a way to express what he feels without saying it directly. Nicolò, in turn, sings Yusuf snippets of songs he remembers from his childhood, and occasionally even hymns, but those he admits feel blasphemous on his lips these days. 

They’re sparring again now. It had been too early to start on dinner when they settled on a campsite, but they were unwilling to push on when they had found a perfectly good campsite with access to a river. Nicolò had put a hand on his sword and given Yusuf a look, the challenge evident in the stubborn tilt of his jaw and the twinkle of a smile in his eyes giving away his fondness. Yusuf had winked in return, always enjoys the way it throws Nicolò off, and drawn his own sword.

It’s an evenly matched fight at this point. They know each other's fighting styles as well as their own and it has become a dance. It’s luck more than anything that allows Yusuf to knock Nicolò’s sword out of his hands and push him to the floor. He presses the line of his blade against Nicolò’s throat, trying not to be entranced by the way Nicolò swallows and looks up through his lashes at him. That should be outlawed, it’s a dirty trick that almost distracts Yusuf long enough for Nicolò to squirm away from the blade and reach for his own sword. Yusuf realises what he’s doing swiftly though, giving Nicolo an amused smile and pressing his chin up with the flat of his blade.

Nicolò acquiesces, hands rising in defeat and Yusuf grins broadly, eyes crinkling warmly. It’s enough to send a curl of want through Nicolò. Yusuf doesn’t expect anything from him and is about to drop the point of his sword and offer Nicolò a hand up, when Nicolò swallows and sets his jaw stubbornly. It’s not a new look on his face, it’s the way he approaches all new things. A stubborn set to his jaw and a resolute desire to understand and know everything he can. Yusuf recognises the look but isn’t entirely sure why it’s applicable to this situation.

He realises, however, when Nicolò’s eyes flick up again. They’re dark with want. They’ve been dancing around this too - a dance as well practiced and intimate as their sparring. Yusuf drops the point of his blade, watching Nicolò consider his options but not move from where he’s kneeling in the dirt. Nicolò suddenly surges forward, pressing his cheek against the fabric of Yusuf’s tunic, murmuring please. First in Genoese and then in Arabic, trying to make it absolutely clear that he knows exactly what he’s asking for, but also waiting for Yusuf to consent.

Yusuf curls a hand into the soft hairs at the nape of Nicolò’s neck. He has wanted to know if they are as soft as they look for months, years, at this point, and suddenly he can. Somehow this is their tipping point. It seems fitting that they spent decades locked in a dance of trying to kill each other before forging a tentative peace, a tentative alliance, and only now, when Nicolò trusts Yusuf’s blade at his throat so deeply, can they realise what they are to each other and ask for more. 

As wondrous as it would be to let Nicolò get his mouth on him immediately, Yusuf knows that the position Nicolò is in cannot be comfortable. He doesn’t want either of them to stay kneeling in the dirt for this, not when they have perfectly serviceable bedrolls. Yusuf tugs Nicolò up, chuckling at the look of pure affront that appears on Nicolò’s face at being denied what he’s asking for, even for a moment. 

Yusuf wishes they had a proper bed, with a great many pillows, as he surveys their bedrolls. From the look on Nicolò’s face, he is clearly thinking along the same lines. He starts folding up a blanket as Yusuf watches and sets it down part way up the bedroll and kneels on it, looking up at Yusuf expectantly. Neither of them have talked since that last fervent please, but that doesn’t matter. They’ve learnt to read each other's words in the lines of their bodies over the decades they’ve spent travelling together.

Yusuf settles himself on the bedroll in front of Nicolò, facing him. Now he’s the one looking up. He lets himself rest more comfortably, leaning back on his elbows and waiting. 

“Whatever you want, Nicolò. Whatever you need.”

Nicolò nods absently, already planning and strategising. He’s treating this like it’s a battle to be won, Yusuf can tell. It’s endearing but also unnecessary. 

“Love, I am not a battlefield. I am just me,” Yusuf promises and the tension bleeds out of Nicolò’s shoulders.

“It has been - some time, since I have done this, and I want it to be pleasurable for you.”

“It will be. It will be pleasurable for me always when it is with you.”

Nicolò gives him an adoring look then, one that makes Yusuf feel like the entire sun has settled in his chest and is beating through his veins with liquid sunshine.

“Undress for me,” Nicolò asks, pushing his hands up Yusuf’s thighs and under his tunic. Between the two of them, they get Yusuf undressed and Nicolò down to his trousers. The sunshine splays across their bare skin and Yusuf can’t help but be glad that they are camping by a river. They will undoubtedly want to bathe after this. 

They haven’t kissed yet and he can’t help but feel that that needs to be remedied, curling his hand back into Nicolò’s hair and tugging him close. It isn’t explosions when their mouths meet, more a homecoming than a war. Nicolò’s nose gets in the way at first and then Yusuf is smiling too widely to kiss properly, but soon enough they find an easy rhythm. He traces the line of Nicolò’s spine, up and down, before pressing his palm between Nicolò’s shoulder blades. His free hand comes up to cup the side of Nicolò’s face and he feels Nicolò’s cheeks grow round with the edges of a smile. 

Nicolò presses a hand against Yusuf’s chest, the other tangling in his curls, and they sink into each other. It is Nicolò who pulls away first, still determined to get his mouth on Yusuf properly. He urges Yusuf to lie back, pressing kisses along the line of his beard and then trailing them down his throat. Nicolò presses his lips against the sun warmed skin, revelling in the taste and feel of Yusuf. It is a blessing to finally get to touch him so indulgently.

He bites gently at the shape of Yusuf’s collarbones, smiling against them at the pleased groan it draws from him. Nicolò spends some time worshipping Yusuf’s chest, before nuzzling at the curve of his stomach. He’s tempted to skip over Yusuf’s cock and lavish his attention on those strong thighs, but the hand in his hair convinces him that would be cruel. Besides, he has an eternity ahead of him to worship Yusuf. Nicolò is content in that. He trusts that he and Yusuf will spend an eternity side by side. There’s no need to quibble over worshipping all of Yusuf now, he can kiss his thighs another day.

He presses his cheek against the sweep of Yusuf’s hip, considering. He wasn’t lying when he said he hasn’t done this in sometime, but he’s sure he remembers the basics. He’s not some fainting virgin, even if most of the other knights had assumed he would be. They’d snuck around at the monastery more than they should have, and Nicolò got good at spending time on his knees. It’s a different kind of prayer, but it is somehow much the same. Kneeling, worshipping, receiving benediction. 

Yusuf tugs at his hair lightly and Nicolò looks up, making eye contact. There’s a question on Yusuf’s tongue, he can tell. It isn’t one Nicolò wants to hear. Of course he’s sure about this. He maintains eye contact as he licks a stripe up Yusuf’s shaft, appreciating the way it makes Yusuf curse and then laugh. Yusuf smiles widely and throws his head back to take a moment to collect himself. He can’t look at Nicolò directly right now. It’s too much. Nicolò’s mouth is rosy from kissing; apparently their immortal healing doesn’t view that as a threat to their bodies. Nicolò presses a kiss just under the head of Yusuf’s cock and Yusuf swallows a deep groan, trying not to rock his hips up.

Nicolò is half smiling, looks almost smug at the effect he is having on Yusuf. Yusuf wants to cave and beg, but he also wants to see where Nicolo wants to take this on his own. The way Nicolò’s eyes flutter closed as he finally, finally, wraps his lips around Yusuf’s cock has Yusuf groaning aloud. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks as peacefully as they do in sleep, creating a filthy contrast with the way his swollen lips stretch around Yusuf’s cock. 

He sets a teasing rhythm, working the shaft of Yusuf’s cock with his mouth and hand. He’d gagged when he tried to take the whole thing in his mouth, looking disappointed at his lack of practice but settling in comfortably soon enough. His tongue is devilish, curling against the underside of Yusuf’s cock and then flattening, encouraging Yusuf to buck into the wet heat of his mouth. 

Yusuf won’t last much longer, it’s been some time since he lay with another too. He had for a while when they were first travelling together, flirted and slept with people as equally as Nicolò had, but lately, neither of them has been inclined to do so. They both know it’s due to their growing regard and adoration for each other but they haven’t been able to articulate that until now. Even now, they haven’t actually said in as many words, that they adore each other. Nicolò’s mouth is doing a successful enough job of communicating that.

Yusuf warns him, pushing at Nicolò’s shoulder but Nicolò gives him a delightfully stubborn look and sinks down further, curling his tongue and sucking as Yusuf comes. He looks far too pleased with himself when Yusuf does finally push him off with a shaking hand, overwhelmed by his orgasm. Nicolò sprawls out on the bedroll next to him and Yusuf props himself up on one elbow.

“Let me touch you?” 

“Please.”

Nicolò shoves his trousers down just far enough to free his cock from them, grimacing a little at how the wet patch drags against him. Yusuf admires his cock, uncut and perfectly proportional to Nicolò. He licks his own palm and wraps it around Nicolò, setting a steady pace. It’s not particularly fancy and Nicolò winces a little and adjusts his grip, preferring a slightly looser grip than Yusuf does for himself. They lean into each other, not so much kissing as just sharing space. Nicolò whines, stomach jumping with how close he is, had been rutting against the blanket underneath him while he worshipped Yusuf.

Yusuf breaks the kiss to watch as Nicolò comes across their stomachs, messy and eager, hips hitching into Yusuf’s hand as he groans, low and rough. Yusuf strokes him through it and then curls his clean hand into Nicolò’s hair, kissing him properly.

“We need to wash, Yusuf,” Nicolò laughs, “I’m filthy.”   
“You are a filthy Frank,” Yusuf teases back and Nicolò rolls his eyes and stands, dragging Yusuf with him. Nicolò steps out of his trousers and moves to dig the soap out from their saddlebags, Yusuf appreciating the curve of his bare ass as he does. 

“You can admire my ass later,” Nicolò protests when Yusuf touches it, but he leans into the embrace anyway, stealing another kiss and attempting to herd them towards the water while still tangled together. They stumble and laugh at themselves, finally untangling enough to walk hand in hand into the river.

In the water, Nicolò turns to Yusuf, passing over the soap and offering the expanse of his back up to be washed. He drops his head and sighs happily at the feeling of strong hands on his shoulders. This is bliss, washing under the warm sun with Yusuf’s hands on him. He cannot die for long, but Nicolò thinks that if he could, heaven would feel a lot like this - warm and clean and so imbued with love.


End file.
